


Dynamite

by owljustsitinthecorner



Category: X-Factor (Comics)
Genre: 1.2k words of rictor feels, 2nd person POV, M/M, Rictor Emotions, exploration of rictor's connection to earth, figured i should put that out there, i dont know how to tag okay!, i just have a lot of emotions bout him and his powers and the X-men discord is a batch of enablers, just a metaphor, kinda angsty, lucas ur an asshole, no actual needles, small warning: metaphor involving needles drawing blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 20:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14797514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owljustsitinthecorner/pseuds/owljustsitinthecorner
Summary: You can’t look at it because that just makes it real in a way it isn’t now. The job should have been an easy one. A way for you to ease back into what you lost. Just simple recon, you would rattle things around to get the place clear and find the person the client was looking for hiding somewhere inside. But in the joy of feeling the earth again, you forgot just how deep the connection can go.





	Dynamite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carrionkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/gifts).



> I LOVE RICTOR AND HAVE TOO MANY EMOTIONS

It’s hard for you, isn’t it? You can’t look at it because that just makes it real in a way it isn’t now. The job should have been an easy one. A way for you to ease back into what you lost. Just simple recon, you would rattle things around to get the place clear and find the person the client was looking for hiding somewhere inside. But in the joy of feeling the earth again, you forgot just how deep the connection can go.

You had followed the group somewhat behind, watching him. Maybe appreciating the view, a bit. The short-cropped hair still a factor that took getting used to. But really you just felt off. There was a pain in your chest that spiked occasionally, one you didn’t understand. You felt the first pangs of fear. _What if it didn’t work, what if she failed, what if your powers were rejecting you like the others had been back in- No. You’re gonna be fine, you **have** to be._

The group stops, and he is suddenly moving toward you, pulling you back away from what the others see. You look at his strained face, confused, asking silently why he has grabbed your arm in such a tight grip. His face is stoic, firm and he shakes his head, pulling you further away from the others when it hits- Pain lances through your frame, starting at your legs and shaking you to your core. There’s a shout, a scream and you don’t know if it’s you or the _earth **itself**_  calling out for it to stop, the pain is so much you don’t hear the shattering soundwave as the dynamite continues blowing the earth apart.

He’s holding you now, your face buried in his neck and it _hurts_ so much you feel like it might kill you. The bastards keep blowing the ground apart and you feel it and it _hurts_ too fucking much to bear.

You never explained your connection to the earth very well at all. You couldn’t get it through all those thick skulls just how much you were a part of the earth, and it was a part of you. When you would let loose with all you had it felt like a full body massage. The earth welcomed the sensation of it, it ached in a way that loosened all the tight bits that had pressed together. Like a knot in the muscle finally giving. The smaller vibrations like a gentle back scratch. The pulling apart to create chasms like a stretch well deserved after remaining still so long.

But this. This was like being shot, but without the shock and delayed reaction that the human body does with pain to protect itself. The earth does not have the chemical compounds to hold back the pain. The moment it is attacked it feels it all. And you feel it too. You think you might be bleeding. You _should be bleeding_  it hurts so much.

You had forgotten just how connected you were to the earth and now you are overwhelmed with pain that you can’t describe. You used to be able to cope, prepare yourself, pull back away from the connection so that any number of explosions you’ve dealt with over the years wouldn’t take you out of a fight.

But your connection is so new again, and you can’t bear the thought of pulling away. And you don’t think you could if you tried. So much of it is muscle memory but this. This was the emotional side of your powers you had to teach yourself to control. And you’ve lost how.

Your knees are on the ground. How did your knees get on the ground? There are voices, around you. Words don’t mean much right now. There is just pain. So much pain. Your eyes are blurred with tears but you don’t look, you know there’s a plume of dust in the distance, you can feel it, like wind through your hair. But you can’t look at it because it makes it more real.

Hands on your shoulders, gently shaking you, trying to get you to look at a face in front of you. You can’t. It hurts and you can’t feel anything else but the pain and a desperate need to _make it stop, please just make it stop, it hurts too much MAKE THEM STOP_.

Voices more frantic, you might be one of them begging in words not your own and you pull away from the hands on your shoulders, falling forward to touch the ground with your hands. There are now two pairs trying to hold you up and you almost hear your own snarl as you grip the dirt under your hands. The pain is there like a festering wound, but the anger. The anger is yours and it pushes away the pain, you can see your hands on the reddish grey dirt. You can see the way you’re shaking, not with nerves, or shock, or cold, but with vindictive **_power_**.

You can feel the mine, so far away yet also right there, on your skin, scars and wounds and pain. The anger is multiplied as you feel the way the earth is ripped apart and stolen from. The pain as precious pieces are hammered out, like a thousand needles drawing blood. And you _shake_  with fury and power. The panicked shouts around you mean _nothing_  because you feel the _pain_  as your oldest friend is cut open and used like it is owned by the rats crawling over its skin. And you are _furious_.

The shouts of those around you turn from panicked to alarmed as klaxons sound in the distance, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Those in that mine deserve everything that’s coming to them. Everything that coming down on their heads. The shouts are directed at you and you can’t hear past the rage threading your veins, pulling you apart. It feels like hours pass in just a few seconds and you know the rats are scurrying away in panic, but you won’t stop until the last one is _gone_ far from hurting your _friend_.

Time is meaningless.

It is nothing in the face of all the pain.

There’s a hand on your face. Stroking a finger, no, a thumb gently across your cheek, right under your eye. This sensation is cutting through the pain. And so is the voice, not just talking to you, but to your friend through you. He was the closest to understanding. Even with his skull being the thickest. The voice is gentle, soothing

“-gone, they are gone now, no more pain, you can rest, they are gone.”

Something gives, the gentle hand mingles with the soft vibrations, meant to sooth the yawning chasm of pain. Like coming up for air. You start to hear again, the words around you. You can see the worried face. Tattoo contorted slightly as he searches your face for something.

You need to tell him that you’re okay, that you’re fine. But all that comes out is a weak groan. Your vision is black around the edges and it grows. You feel yourself smile softly at him and allow yourself to fall forward and sleep in his arms. You know it is safe there.

**Author's Note:**

> I HOPE YOU SUFFERED AS MUCH READING IT AS I DID WRITING IT


End file.
